Passage 📖: John 3:22–36

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👋 Introduction to Today’s Lesson

What do you do when the momentum shifts… and it’s not shifting toward you?
When the room that once felt full starts to thin out.
When the attention moves.
When the influence you carried begins to transfer somewhere else.
Most of us are prepared for growth.
We pray for increase.
We ask God to expand what we’re building.
But what if the holiest season of your life
is not the one where you rise —
but the one where you step aside?
In today’s passage, two ministries overlap.
Crowds are watching.
Comparison begins.
And one man responds in a way that feels almost impossible.
What he says next will challenge how you define success, calling, and joy —
and it may completely reshape how you interpret the season you’re in right now.

Last week, we sat with one of the most famous verses in Scripture. In John 3:16–21, Jesus reframed everything Nicodemus thought he understood about God. We saw that God’s primary motivation is not condemnation, control, or punishment — but love. Not love for a select group, not love for the morally consistent, but love for the world. We explored how salvation is no longer centered on lineage, law, or religious status, but on trusting the Son. And perhaps most unsettling, we saw that judgment is not merely a future event — it is a present response to light. The dividing line is not insider versus outsider, but whether we step into the light or retreat from it. Jesus did not come to expose us for shame, but to bring us into healing. The invitation was simple but searching: stop hiding, step into the light, and trust that being fully seen by God is safer than remaining in the dark.

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After this Jesus and his disciples went into the Judean countryside, and he remained there with them and was baptizing. John also was baptizing at Aenon near Salim, because water was plentiful there, and people were coming and being baptized (for John had not yet been put in prison).
Now a discussion arose between some of John's disciples and a Jew over purification. And they came to John and said to him, “Rabbi, he who was with you across the Jordan, to whom you bore witness—look, he is baptizing, and all are going to him.” John answered, “A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, ‘I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.’ The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease.”
He who comes from above is above all. He who is of the earth belongs to the earth and speaks in an earthly way. He who comes from heaven is above all. He bears witness to what he has seen and heard, yet no one receives his testimony. Whoever receives his testimony sets his seal to this, that God is true. For he whom God has sent utters the words of God, for he gives the Spirit without measure. The Father loves the Son and has given all things into his hand. Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever does not obey the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him.

This scene unfolds in the Judean countryside, near the Jordan River.
Jerusalem is behind them for now. The Temple confrontation has already happened. Nicodemus has already come in the night. Jesus’ public ministry is gaining momentum.
But something unusual is happening:
For a brief season, two ministries are operating side by side.
Jesus is baptizing (through His disciples). John the Baptist is still baptizing. Both are drawing crowds. Both are in the same region. And naturally — comparison begins.
John’s disciples come to him concerned: “Rabbi… He who was with you across the Jordan… look, He is baptizing, and all are going to Him.”
The tension is not theological.
It is relational.
It is emotional.
It is public.
Influence is shifting.
And everyone can see it.

In the first-century Jewish world, honor and reputation were everything.
A rabbi’s credibility was measured by:
The number of disciples he attracted

The loyalty of his followers

The public recognition of his authority

To lose followers was not neutral.
It meant:
Diminished honor

Reduced influence

Potential loss of standing

Religious teachers did not celebrate shrinking movements.
They protected them.
So when John’s disciples notice that “all are going to Him,”
their concern makes sense.
From a cultural standpoint,
John’s ministry appears to be declining.
And in that world,
decline was not something you embraced —
it was something you resisted.

John responds with an image deeply rooted in Jewish wedding tradition. “The friend of the bridegroom… rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice.” In Jewish weddings:

But once the bridegroom arrived, his role diminished.
And that was not failure —it was fulfillment.
The friend did not compete with the groom.
He celebrated him. John is locating himself in that role.
He is not losing. He is completing his assignment.

This is more than a passing exchange between teachers.
It is a defining transition in the Gospel.
Up until now:
John has been the central prophetic voice.
Crowds have gathered around him.
Leaders have questioned him.
The nation has watched him.

But now,
the spotlight shifts fully to Jesus.
John’s ministry does not collapse —
it resolves.
And the question quietly moves from:
“Who has the bigger following?”
to
“Who truly comes from above?”
John closes with a declaration that echoes everything we’ve seen in this Gospel so far:
Jesus comes from above.

The Father loves the Son.

All things have been placed in His hands.

The issue is no longer reputation.
It is revelation.
And the story is now moving decisively in one direction.
Toward the One who must increase.

John’s disciples are unsettled: “All are going to Him.” Their concern isn’t theological — it’s emotional. It’s loss. Loss of attention. Loss of influence. Loss of momentum. Loss of relevance. And that’s what makes this moment so human. Most of us don’t struggle when God moves — we struggle when He moves in someone else’s direction. When the opportunity goes to them. When the growth shifts away from us. When the season changes. Comparison exposes what we’ve quietly attached our identity to. If our worth is rooted in being needed, then someone else’s success feels like our shrinkage. If our value is tied to visibility, then not being seen feels like irrelevance. If our identity is built on momentum, then slowing down feels like failure. But John shows us another way. He doesn’t panic when the crowds leave. He doesn’t compete or try to protect his platform. Why? Because he never mistook his assignment for his identity. He understood that influence is seasonal, but calling is permanent. His joy wasn’t anchored to how many people were listening — it was anchored to whether he was standing where God placed him. There will be seasons when visibility decreases, momentum slows, and influence shrinks — and comparison will whisper that you’re being replaced or left behind. But John invites us to ask a better question: Was I building something for myself, or faithfully living the role God assigned to me? Sometimes what feels like decline is actually completion. Sometimes what feels like being overlooked is repositioning. Your value was never in the crowd. It was always in your calling — and that does not shrink just because the spotlight moves.

John uses a wedding image to explain his peace. He is not the bridegroom — he never was. He is the friend of the groom, the one who prepares the way, stands nearby, and then steps aside when the bride arrives. And when Jesus’ ministry begins to grow, John does not panic. He does not compete. He does not rebrand. Instead, he says something almost unthinkable: “This joy of mine is now complete… He must increase, but I must decrease.” That is not insecurity — it is clarity. Most of us have been trained to find joy in increase — more recognition, more influence, more visibility, more affirmation. But John finds joy in alignment. He understands the direction of the story. He knows who the center is. And because he knows his role, he is free. “Decrease” does not mean less value, less dignity, or becoming irrelevant. It means right order. When Jesus increases — when He is seen clearly, trusted deeply, followed fully — everything moves toward health. The Kingdom is not built on our prominence, but on His. So much of our anxiety comes from trying to be central in stories we were only meant to serve. We exhaust ourselves trying to stay visible, necessary, impressive. But fulfillment is not found in being the bridegroom; it is found in being faithful to your assignment. Joy comes when you stop measuring your life by how much attention you hold and start measuring it by how aligned you are. You were never meant to be the center — you were meant to point to Him. And when Jesus increases in your life — in your work, relationships, ambitions, and identity — you don’t shrink. You rest. You complete your role. Because the deepest fulfillment in God’s Kingdom is not being seen the most — it is knowing your life helped others see Him clearly.

John answers the anxiety in the room with one steady sentence: “A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven.” That is not passive. It is not weak. It is deeply secure. In one line, John reframes everything his disciples think they are losing. Influence is not earned. Position is not seized. Recognition is not self-generated. Everything is given. And if everything is given, then two things immediately collapse: pride and insecurity. Pride collapses because you cannot boast in what was entrusted. You didn’t manufacture your calling. You didn’t author your season. You didn’t engineer your impact. It was given. And insecurity collapses for the same reason. If what you have is given, you don’t have to cling to it. If what you lose is given, you don’t have to panic. If your season shifts, it’s not theft — it’s transition. John is not spiraling because Jesus is increasing. He understands something his disciples do not: you cannot lose what heaven has assigned you, and you cannot keep what heaven has not. This dismantles the lie that your value rises and falls with visibility. It dismantles the fear that someone else’s growth means your decline. It dismantles the pressure to prove, perform, or protect your place. The Kingdom does not run on ambition; it runs on assignment. You receive what is given. You steward what is entrusted. And when the season shifts, you trust the Giver more than the gift. That is freedom. When you truly believe everything comes from above, you stop competing, striving, and comparing. You start resting. Because your life is not built on what you can secure — it is built on what God has already decided to entrust to you.

There is something deeply human about this moment: two ministries, crowds shifting, whispers rising, comparison creeping in. John’s disciples feel it — we’re losing ground. And we know that feeling too. When momentum slows. When attention shifts. When someone else’s growth feels like our decline. But John doesn’t panic. He doesn’t compete. He doesn’t cling. Why? Because he knows who he is. He never confused his assignment with his identity. He understands that everything is given: “A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given from heaven.” If what you have is entrusted, you don’t have to defend it. If what changes is entrusted, you don’t have to fear it. And he knows where joy is found — not in increase, but in alignment. “He must increase.” Not because John is small, but because Jesus is central. The One from above speaks with final authority — not the crowd, not the numbers, not the noise. So if your influence feels lighter in this season, don’t assume your impact is over. Sometimes when visibility decreases, clarity increases. And when Jesus becomes more central, nothing of eternal value is ever lost.

Blessings,

Michael

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